


Don't let the sun catch you (in bed or anywhere else)

by BakedAppleSauce



Series: The desert is a waste of time [13]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: (aka Alfie saying whatever he wants), Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Slice of Life, but oh well, or rather Slice of Morning, this is actually very cute and fluffy by my standards, which... you wouldn't think that looking at the tags would you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 19:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19157926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakedAppleSauce/pseuds/BakedAppleSauce
Summary: Alfie was fast asleep when Tommy got up, face mashed into a pillow, impervious to any kind of background noise as usual, but of course – as soon as Tommy even starts thinking about doing something that might possibly affect him, he’s awake like somebody struck a bell somewhere.Morning sex. There's a desk involved.(Stand-alone, established relationship, set somewhere in the future.)





	Don't let the sun catch you (in bed or anywhere else)

There’s a book about fairy tales on Alfie’s desk.

That’s what it looks like at least, Tommy thinks, judging from the colorful illustration on the cover, because whatever the title says, it’s not in English. Russian, probably, even though as far as he knows, that’s not the only language using those letters, so it might be something else entirely.

The book by itself isn’t that strange. God knows, there are enough books around, a lot of them crammed into the bookshelves in this room alone, and not all of them are literary classics. What does make it odd is the way it sits on the desk, off on the left side, like somebody put it there so it wouldn’t get in the way while working, but still glaringly obvious; more so because the desk in Alfie’s bedroom is usually painstakingly organized – with the exception of the few times Tommy has ended up at the house unannounced it’s always been neat and tidy, with everything even remotely important cleared away and all the drawers locked.

Right now, the only other things in plain sight are some stationary, a few pens and a cheap notepad with a few words penciled on it that are literally unreadable – because Alfie is meticulous about his accounting and every other aspect of paperwork that’s business-related, but he can’t write down something legible to save his life. As far as Tommy can tell, Ollie seems to be the only person on the planet capable of deciphering his handwriting. God knows, _he_ bloody can’t.

He considers picking up the book. Then he considers picking up the notepad instead, maybe try and decipher some of the things Alfie has written down.

“Find anything interesting?” a voice mumbles behind him.

Alfie was fast asleep when Tommy got up, face mashed into a pillow, impervious to any kind of background noise as usual, but of course – as soon as Tommy even starts _thinking_ about doing something that might possibly affect him, he’s awake like somebody struck a bell somewhere.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Tommy lies, just to be an asshole. “You forgot to lock something.”

“Matter of fact, I didn’t,” Alfie says, not sounding entirely awake yet.  

Tommy shrugs, keeping is back carefully turned so Alfie can’t see him smirk. “If you say so.”

“What did I ever do,” Alfie mutters, talking to himself more than anything. “To deserve this kind of treatment, yeah, at fuck o’clock in the morning no less. Hm? That, I’d really like to know.”

A lot of things probably, Tommy thinks, both of them have, but he doesn’t answer the question out loud. Behind his back, he can hear Alfie get out of bed with an irritated huff, the rustling of blankets and then the heavy sound of his footsteps on the floor as he idly pads over. He’s still naked – has to be, because he was before and Tommy didn’t hear him put anything on.

“Where, then,” he says when he gets to the desk, hooking his chin over Tommy’s shoulder, casually proprietary in a way that never fails to make Tommy flood with heat; wraps one arm around his waist and presses himself impossibly close, heavy and warm against the line of Tommy’s back.

“Where’d I forget something? Hm? Fuckin’ show me.”

And the thing is, obviously they both know it’s a lie. Alfie didn’t forget to lock up and Tommy didn’t really go through his desk – because he wouldn’t, not really, at least not when Alfie is _right there_ – but still, Tommy is well aware that he’s really checking, just in case, because he is _that_ paranoid. This is the person Tommy voluntarily sleeps with on a regular basis, apparently – he doesn’t quite understand it either.

“Right there,” he lies again and half-heartedly nods his head at nothing, because there is nothing see. Tries to lean back a bit, to test the waters, only to find that there’s no give at all – he’s effectively stuck between Alfie and the desk, which should be annoying, in all honesty, but he can feel himself get hard instead.

“Don’t see nothing, mate,” Alfie murmurs, right next to his ear, and he’s just playing dumb now. “You sure? Yeah?”

His hand slips into Tommy’s underwear, lazily cupping his cock, the way he always does when he wants a reaction, but isn’t really interested in escalating things just yet. Tommy’s fingers wrap around his underarm automatically, not trying to stop him, just for something to hold on to.

“Fuck,” he says, nonsensically.

Alfie hums against the side of his neck, sounding pleased. There is a strange single-mindedness to him in the early mornings, even more so than usual. Sure, he might be upright and functioning – Tommy has seen him get up very early or even in the middle of the night, and he always manages to throw on clothes and be out the door in under two minutes with minimal complaining if necessary – but it’s almost like only the essential parts are awake while the rest of him needs a little longer to catch up.

“That’s the general idea, yeah,” he says.

They’ve spent over an hour fucking last night, slow and unhurried, which isn’t always the case, especially if they haven’t seen each other for a while. But this time he’d let Alfie put him on his back and open him up at an almost glacial pace; first with his fingers, then with his cock and then they spent what seemed like an actual eternity just rocking together until his mouth felt bruised from kissing and every bit of tension his body has ever held had disappeared, turned liquid and melted away.

Afterwards, he’d cleaned himself up a bit, but mostly he didn’t want to move at all, which means when Alfie carefully pushes two fingers against his entrance now, they slip inside with barely any resistance. Alfie makes another content noise that almost gets lost in the way Tommy inhales sharply, back arching.

“Well, would you look at that,” Alfie murmurs, then adds, like they’re having a completely casual conversation, “Not gonna lie, this is really convenient.”

“Oh, _convenient,_ eh?” Tommy says, as dead-pan as he can, given the circumstances. He can feel Alfie nodding against his cheek.

“Yeah, it is, mate. Very convenient. Should walk around like that all of time.”

Tommy pushes back against him without even wanting to, dull throb of arousal pulsing through him at the thought. _All of the time,_ Christ, the _idea_ of it; that Alfie could just fuck him anywhere, at any time – and it’s bloody humiliating that Tommy wants him to, but he _does_ want him to, wants Alfie to bend him over the desk and fuck him like he would if they were at the office or something, _anywhere_ really, Tommy so slick and open he’s practically asking for it.

“Waste of time,” he manages, which doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it _sounds_ like he’s disagreeing, which is the only part that really matters.

“Hmmm,” Alfie says, contemplative. “The part where you’re walking around, you mean? ‘Cause yeah, I agree with that, that’s a _complete_ waste of time. Absolutely. If anything you should be on your back all of the time, right, making all those pretty noises you always pretend you don’t wanna make-”

“Shut the fuck _up,_ Jesus Christ,” Tommy cuts him off, trying to ignore the way his cock feels hot and heavy between his legs. He hates the fact that Alfie can just _say_ shit like that – like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t care that he’s giving everything away.

“Right, stay there,” Alfie says now, completely ignoring the interruption, and wanders off in the direction of the bed, presumably to get the oil. And it’s not like Tommy was planning on going anywhere, but the fact that Alfie said it instantly raises his hackles – always does, because now it seems like he’s doing it because Alfie fucking told him to, like he’s following orders, and not because he actually wants to. Which is idiotic, really, because there’s nobody around to have an opinion on _anything,_ but it still makes his neck itch. Makes him want to be contrary, just because he can.

Of course, nine times out of ten, that is exactly why Alfie does it in the first place. He returns in no time, nuzzling the back of Tommy’s neck before biting down right where his neck and his shoulder meet. Tommy makes an involuntary noise.

“Fucking get on with it,” he manages, instead of the moan he wants to make.

Alfie snorts, amused, and licks over the spot he just bit, like he’s trying to soothe the sting.

“Honestly mate, it’s a complete mystery to me how people ever find you anything but charming.”

He only slicks himself up, so it’s still tight enough for Tommy to really _feel_ it, once they’ve tugged his underwear down, and Alfie has started to work himself inside. He isn’t especially considerate this time around – doesn’t shove inside in one go, but doesn’t go slow either, gripping Tommy’s hips with both hands and making him take it. Tommy lets his head hang down and tries to relax, tries to breathe through it. For some reason, it’s always more difficult when there is no actual pain, just the uncomfortable feeling of being filled, of being _full,_ oh _God,_ because there is nothing concrete to focus on, nothing’s acute, he just has to wait it out.

“There we go,” Alfie murmurs behind him, starting to fuck him nice and easy. “Look how fuckin’ easy that was, hm?”

“Fuck off,” Tommy pants, flat out refusing to agree. He’s got both palms planted on the desk, can feel sweat starting to break out along his hairline, at the small of his back.

“Don’t think I will, actually,” Alfie says, and he still sounds kind of amused, that fucking asshole. “Not that I don’t appreciate the suggestion, yeah-”

“Fuck _off,”_ Tommy repeats, all of a sudden seething with anger that is not entirely an act. It gets like this, sometimes, him pretending to be furious about something obnoxious Alfie said, and actually, kind of, halfway being serious about it. It usually leads to him starting to put up some sort of fight, which always ends with Alfie cheerfully _making_ him do things and well… it didn’t take too much trial and error before they’d figured out that this particular scenario was working really well for both of them.

“If you don’t get on with it, I swear I’m going to find somebody who will,” Tommy says, half-growls it really, trying to shrug him off and get away – even makes a semi-serious attempt at it, because he already knows Alfie won’t let him get very far.

“Oi,” Alfie says, sounding mildly inconvenienced at best. “Where the fuck you think you’re going?”

He grabs the back of Tommy’s neck with one hand and twists one of Tommy’s arms up behind his back with the other, stopping just short of the point where it would actually start to hurt. The threat of it is there, keeping him frozen in place; if he wouldn’t keep still, he’d definitely feel it.

Alfie pushes deep with a grunt and stops his rhythm completely, which would feel nice in theory, except they both know it’s going to drive Tommy fucking insane in no time. He’ taking shuddering breaths already, letting his head hang low. Alfie lets go of his neck, but the vice grip he has on his twisted arm is staying firmly in place.

“The fuck did I ever do to you, hm?” he says, pretending to be bewildered. “That you’d lie to my fuckin’ face like that?”

Tommy has to laugh at the question, breathless. Like this, he’s got only one hand left to brace himself, palm flat against the table. He wants to tell Alfie to fucking _move_ already, but he’s not quite desperate enough yet.

“You want the fucking list?”

“You know, mate,” Alfie says, moving oh so gently inside of him, barely fucking him at all. “If you’re still coherent enough to complain this much? Yeah? We’re gonna have to make a few changes, won’t we.”

“How about a change where you shut the fuck up for five seconds and just _fuck me,_ Jesus Christ,” Tommy says, patience gone, trying to convince himself that he sounds more irritated than frantic.

Alfie makes a rumbling noise deep in his chest and says, voice pitched dangerously low, “Well, if you fucking _insist…”_

And then he’s _really_ fucking him, _Christ,_ putting his weight behind it and shoving into Tommy as deep as he can on every thrust. And the thing is, Tommy realizes after a few minutes, feeling dazed, the thing is that he’s being completely selfish about it; fucking into Tommy hard and fast in a way that very obviously feels good to _him,_ which is something that almost never happens. Alfie might be a lot of things, but being selfish in bed isn’t one of them. It’s the opposite, usually – if there’s anything that’s bound to make Tommy lose his mind during sex, Alfie will apply himself with single-minded focus, like his sole purpose in life is to make Tommy come as hard as possible.

Which means that right now, it shouldn’t work as well because while it does feel good, Alfie’s not even trying to get the angle right – just holds Tommy still, one hand on his hip, the other one still gripping his arm and gives it to him – but for some reason it absolutely _does_ work, because the idea of it is still there in the back of his mind; Alfie ruthlessly using him for his own pleasure, because he wants to, because he can, because Tommy _wants_ to let him, _fuck…_

For a long while, the only thing that fills the bedroom are the sounds of them fucking, daylight filtering in through the window, murky and grey. When Alfie finally presses a careful palm against Tommy’s cock, he’s barely even rubbing it up and down, because apparently he’s decided to be an unhelpful fucking bastard this morning.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tommy hisses and pushes back against him. By now, his arm is shaking, but Alfie isn’t letting up. “You fucking- I _hate_ you, you stupid-” He can’t even finish the insult, too pleasure-drunk to _think,_ and then his breath hitches desperately, because Alfie has gripped his cock, thank you, _Jesus,_ tightening his fingers in a circle right under the head.

“Yeah, see, _there_ we fuckin’ go,” he says, managing to sound smug even though he’s panting. “That’s better, innit?”

“No,” Tommy manages, biting his lower lip with how good it feels and flooding white-hot with anger at the same time; very aware of how petulant he sounds and not giving a fuck. “No, it’s not- _fuck,_ Jesus-”

“No?” Alfie says, mock surprised and how the fuck does he manage to still be this coherent, anyway? “That’s a pity, innit, ‘cause if you’re not… if you’re not enjoying yourself, I can-”

“Don’t you dare,” Tommy says frantically, before Alfie can take his hand away again. “Don’t you fuckin’ _dare,_ Alfie, come _on-”_ He’s so close he can practically taste it, trembling right on the edge of orgasm. God, but he wants to fucking come.

“Well, in that case,” Alfie says, pressing even closer now. “Let’s try this again, shall we? Asked you a fucking question, didn’t I?”

“Fuck you,” Tommy tries to say, except it turns into a moan halfway through.

“I’m sorry mate, what was that?” Alfie says. He’s actually going to make him say it, Tommy realizes. If he had a weapon right now, he might seriously consider shooting him in his smug fucking face. “Couldn’t understand a fuckin’ word of that-”

“Yes,” Tommy explodes, hisses it at him with at much venom as he can muster. “Yes, yes it is, it’s so much better, _Christ,_ now go _fuck_ yourself-”

And then he’s too busy moaning because Alfie is stroking him seriously now, quick and sure, rhythm of his thrusts faltering a bit, but it doesn’t matter because he’s got the angle right, he’s got it fucking _perfect,_ brushing against Tommy’s sweet spot and it feels- oh, _God._ Fuck.

Tommy’s already done for before the sensation even completely registers, toppling over the edge and riding the wave of pleasure all the way down, coming all over himself and Alfie’s hand in long, satisfying pulses, trying to keep quiet and failing spectacularly.

He becomes aware that Alfie must’ve let go of his twisted arm when he stops himself from swaying forward with both hands, and then he’s tipping anyway, because there is a hand on the back of his neck that’s pushing him down. He goes easily, almost like he’s in a daze, catching himself on his forearms, and then he has maybe two or three seconds to adjust, before Alfie is well and truly bending him over the desk, holding him down and fucking him ruthlessly.

“Oh, God, _Jesus,_ _fuck-”_ and it might have been a howl, if there’d been enough air in his lungs for that, but there isn’t and it’s half-muffled against his own underarm anyway, and it’s _too much,_ God, he’s too sensitive, he just came, he _can’t-_

Except then it’s over anyway because Alfie is coming as well, taking deep, shuddering breaths, one of his hands still gripping Tommy’s neck, the other slamming down on top of the desk next to Tommy’s hip for balance.

“Fuck me,” he says hoarsely, after he’s finally stopped moving. “Not that I’m complaining, right, but objectively speaking – s’too fuckin’ early for this. I mean, honestly.”

“You fuckin’ started this,” Tommy mumbles, which isn’t true at all, but he’s too satisfied to care.

Somehow, they make it back over to the bed where they sprawl out in a heap, overheated and out of breath. Still, Alfie haphazardly tugs one of the blankets over both of them, because they both know Tommy’s going to get cold in no time.

“How’s your-” Tommy starts, after they’ve stared at the ceiling in companionable silence for a while, and leaves enough of a pause for Alfie to interrupt.

“Fine,” Alfie says promptly. “Fine, yeah. What the fuck do you care?”

“I don’t,” Tommy says – it’s a well-worn pattern, and he can tell by Alfie’s tone that it’s true, or at least true enough. Secretly, he’s relieved, because as… _nice_ as this was, if it means that Alfie is going to limp through the rest of his day because of him, well. It’s not a very enjoyable thought.

“Gonna have to clean that up,” Alfie says after a few more moments of silence, obviously meaning the desk, and then doesn’t move at all.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Tommy says, thinking that _he_ is going to have to clean himself up as well. Alfie’s bathroom has a proper bathtub at least, but to actually make use of that Tommy is still going to have to _get up_ and he doesn’t really feel like it quite yet.  

Alfie makes a displeased noise. “Patience is a virtue, mate,” he says primly.

“Postponement, too?” Tommy says.

 _“Especially_ postponement, yeah,” Alfie says, nodding earnestly. “’Cause it doesn’t do to rush, does it, there’s never any good that comes from that.”

“What if you’re late for a train?” Tommy asks, as earnestly as he can.

Alfie props himself up on his elbows and grins at him – one of the honestly delighted ones, not trying to hide it at all, crooked tooth and everything. It brightens up his whole face, makes him look… not younger exactly, but _lighter_ somehow. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s still naked, barely covered by the blanket at all, because he draped the better part of it over Tommy, and he’s still disheveled from sleep and sex. It’s unfair, Tommy thinks, almost kind of angry about it, how attractive he is without even trying; and without giving a shit about it, either.

“You know, I’d have to check,” Alfie says now, trying and failing to look pensive. “But I’m pretty sure there’s a part in the Torah about that. In Devarim or something, yeah… trains and postponement and all that, definitely.”

“Is that a fact.”

“Yeah.”

Tommy shakes his head, grinning himself, and then has to stretch a bit, to reach for the cigarette packet on the nightstand. He grabs the ashtray that sits next to it as well and, on a whim, puts it in the middle of Alfie’s chest. It sits there a bit askew, but stays in place.

“I’d like to reiterate my previous point, yeah,” Alfie says, looking down at the ashtray and then back up at Tommy, completely impassive, “Of being generally baffled by the fact that people don’t find you fuckin’ charming, mate.”

“Because _you’re_ just such a delight to be around,” Tommy says, dead-pan.

“If you bloody burn me-”

“I’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it,” Tommy says, unfazed, and lights his cigarette. “Perfectly aware of that.”

“Well,” Alfie says, miffed, but he flops back down carefully and leaves the ashtray where it is. “That, too.”

 

* * *

 

Later, when they’re down in the kitchen, taking turns with various parts of the newspaper, he suddenly remembers the book.

Alfie is currently busy reaching for one of the tea cups without looking, too focused on his part of the paper – holding it very close to his face and narrowing his eyes at the headline because he almost definitely left his glasses in another room and is too lazy to go get them. He takes a sip and then makes a face, genuinely appalled.

“That’s mine,” Tommy, who has silently watched him do it, supplies helpfully.

 _“That_ is absolutely fuckin’ vile, is what that is,” Alfie says and puts it back down. “How much sugar did you put in there, pray tell, ‘cause that is just… not fuckin’ right.”

Tommy shrugs.

“Eight table spoons,” he says very seriously. “Why? Do you think that’s too much?”

“Yeah, well, see,” Alfie says, playing along, “Me personally, I’d draw the line at five.”

“Five it is then,” Tommy says, reaching for the sugar bowl. “Here, let me help you with that-”

“Oi!” Alfie says and hastily covers the top of his cup with one hand. “Kindly fuck off, yeah, put that back down. There you fuckin’ go. Unbelievable.”

Tommy tries very hard not to grin at him. He’s feeling loose-limbed and satisfied, even though it’s going to be a very long day and he’s not looking forward to most of the people he’s going to have to talk to – council members and legitimate businessmen, all of them upper class. Well, he thinks with some trepidation, let’s see how long the good mood is going to last.

Across from him, Alfie is turning around in his chair, one arm hooked over the backrest, craning his head to check the clock on the wall for the time, because his driver is going to come pick him up as usual. He hasn’t bothered putting on anything but his undershirt, which strains a bit around his chest and his arms, despite the comfortable fit and the long sleeves. Tommy chews on a piece of bread and pretends not to notice.

“You coming back tonight?” Alfie asks, once he’s turned back around again, scratching his fingers over his beard. This time, when he picks up his tea cup, he double checks he’s got the right one before taking a careful sip.

Tommy shrugs. “Probably,” he says, as casual as possible. “You going to be here?”

Alfie shrugs as well, clearly mimicking him, but it’s a good-natured gesture instead of a mocking one.

“Probably,” he says, corner of his mouth twitching. “Seeing as I live here and everything.”

Tommy thinks about the book and then decides not to bring it up.

He can ask about it later, after all.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just me headcanon-ing all over the place, because it's been a stressful week and I do what I want.  
> Also, they'll never, ever stop giving each other shit, because it's what they deserve.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm [bakedapplesauce](https://bakedapplesauce.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
